


sweat it out.

by Anonymous



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alpha Vegeta (Dragon Ball), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Breeding Kink, M/M, Omega Trunks Briefs, Parent/Child Incest, Slight Cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:54:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23149600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Trunks comes down with a fever. Bedrest is not kind to him.
Relationships: Trunks Briefs/Vegeta
Comments: 8
Kudos: 57
Collections: Anonymous Fics





	sweat it out.

**Author's Note:**

> oh look it's me back at it again with more... of THIS shit
> 
> mind the warnings!!!! (additionally, know that these omega pheremones function a little like "sex pollen", and vegeta is 'under the influence', i.e. not in control of these choices and not hurting trunks on purpose :( sorry that i have a kink vegeta my guy i know ur not THIS bad)

A week ago, one of Trunks’ classmates had come down with something. She would be back in a few days’ time, of course, but he had seen an opportunity to brag and he’d learned _well_ to never refuse the chance to assert his superiority.

_Well, **I’ve** never been sick a day in my life._

And of course, as bragging dishonestly was to make a mockery of oneself, it was the truth. Saiyans, even half-bloods, were meant to be resilient above all else; his biology handled it for him with ease while entire classes at his school were unceremoniously caught up in the same strain of the flu for a week.

Which made it all the more humiliating when the fever started. Hubris unmatched defined half of his bloodline, and he’d paid for it in many ways, but none so miserable as this. If a foe could best him, it meant only that he had to come to surpass them. Being unable to surpass fucking _germs_ was the most godawful hit to his ego that he could have taken. 

Not to mention how it _felt_. So unbearably hot that it made his stomach hurt, dizzy with the feeling of liquid fire coursing through his entire body, and too stubborn to accept it and take a day off— wasn’t the best way to get over a fever to sweat it out, anyway? His father would be certain to agree with him, even if his mother didn’t.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You need to go back to bed right now.”

As inevitable as death itself, those words met him almost the moment he sat down at the breakfast table. “No I _don’t!_ ” he shouted through a mouthful of mandarin orange slices. “Dad wouldn’t want me to, anyway. Right?” Trunks glanced across the room to find his father already staring at him. His fists were clenched tight enough that his fingernails bit into his palms, and it looked as if it was taking every ounce of strength he had not to hit him for it. For _what?_ It wasn’t as if he’d chosen this for himself.

“...she’s right. Go.”

Since when was there any valid excuse for missing a training session? Ten minutes ago, Trunks was certain that he’d have to be dead to ever take time off, and even then he wasn’t sure he’d get out of it. “But why?! I’d be fine!”

“Go _now_ ,” Vegeta snarled, and for all the times he’d been justifiably scared of him, Trunks couldn’t recall ever feeling his stomach drop like that. That deep, gravely voice took on a tone that terrified him so thoroughly it made his knees shake under the table. At least, that’s _kind of_ what it felt like. 

For once, he had no argument to present. Even if he’d wanted to, he wasn’t sure he would have managed to disobey him. His body had already decided for him that it wasn’t worth the argument. “...yes, sir,” Trunks replied, resigned to letting himself follow the command. He shuffled back to his room and threw himself on top of his sheets with an irritated huff. 

_He says that, but he and I both know he’s going to make me work even harder when I’m better to make up for taking a break. Since when does he care about being on mom’s good side with parenting?_

Too consumed with the cloudiness in his head to do anything else, Trunks closed his eyes and let himself be taken under by sleep.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When he awoke again, it was pitch black in his room and he felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Were it not for the sinking creak of movement on his bed, he’d have gone back to sleep in an instant. Trunks wasn’t the type to bother with asking ‘who’s there’ or wait on someone else to act, but he wasn’t granted the opportunity. Hands pushed him back against his mattress, one on his chest and the other at his throat, and the fact that he could tell exactly who they belonged to from the feeling alone almost seemed like the sort of thing that would come up in a therapy session.

“Get off me, Dad!” Trunks shouted, a fist pounding against the arm at his throat. “You could’ve fought me earlier and it’s your fault you didn’t get to, so fuck off!”

“Shut up, _boy,_ ” Vegeta hissed back at him. He’d taken on that same tone as earlier, but it sounded even scarier spoken right next to his ear. Trunks went from angry to shaking with terror in a split second, though he couldn’t explain why that fear made him go so pliant. His eyes still hadn’t managed to adjust to the darkness, but he didn’t need to see to know that his father was probably a second away from mocking him for it.

Instead of receiving a bitter insult for his cowardice, he felt him nuzzle into his neck and breathe in. Trunks realized then that Vegeta’s breaths were labored with a type of exertion he’d never heard from him. “...dad?” he whispered. Was he hurt? Possessed? Both, maybe? “What’s going on?”

“Don’t fucking talk.” Vegeta stroked his leg, his calloused fingertips rough against his skin. In a way, Trunks felt as if he shouldn’t ask any questions. His father was not often affectionate with his mother, let alone with his _son_ , and he almost felt as if he should just let it happen while he had the chance to enjoy it.

Then again, was he enjoying it? Trunks felt ill, and even the few points of contact between them burned hot enough to hurt. “St-stop touching me. It’s… too hot.” Weakened by his current state, the shove he tried to deliver was pathetic but enough to get his point across.

Vegeta either didn’t hear or had chosen to ignore him. He seized both of his hands in his own and gripped them tight enough that Trunks was acutely aware of how fragile his own bones were. The protest he intended to voice was cut off by a sharp, frantic gasp as Vegeta sank his teeth into his neck.

“Ow, what the _fuck?!_ ” His legs kicked uselessly, only growing weaker as a strange numbness flooded him. “Go… away,” Trunks wheezed, his whole face burning with oncoming tears when he bit him again.

It was the human in him that wanted to call for his mother. He craved her embrace and the reassurance that everything was fine, but he was beginning to think that whatever had come over his father was not the sort of thing that could be talked down. Trunks knew that Vegeta would never hurt her on purpose, and even if he tried to act like it didn’t matter, he’d hate himself for doing her harm, accidental or not.

But this was different. That was his father when he was _normal_ , and Trunks realized with a twist of horror in his stomach that the ease with which he could kill her would take little more effort than raising a finger. 

So, he started crying in an attempt to keep from _screaming_. “Please jus- just stop. It _hurts_!” he sobbed. The noise must have annoyed his father enough to do something about it, because both his wrists met in the crushing grip of one hand so he could cover his whining mouth. Vegeta gnawed on his skin like he intended to eat him alive, outright groaning when the wound was made large enough that he could force the tip of his tongue into it. Torn skin caught between his sharpest teeth, Vegeta tugged on it with the primal aggression of a wild fucking animal, beholden to no morals or even family, free to cannibalize him for no reason other than this: he was _hungry_ for it. Trunks heard the tear more than he felt it at first, the noise sick and wet in his ears. The blood pooling on his pillow felt thicker and hotter than he was familiar with. A gush of blood from a broken nose didn’t compare to the pulsing heaviness of this.

Trunks braced himself for more. His father would rip into his muscles and feast on them by the end of this, he was sure of it. Instead, there was silence, stillness, and the grey clouds outside had pulled away from the moon to bathe his room in surreal blue light. He tried to blink away the tears cooling on his eyelashes, wondering if Vegeta had come to his senses and he’d see remorse on his face. Maybe, for once in his life, he’d get an apology from him. 

His luck was not so kind. What he saw written across his expression was unfamiliar. There was blood all around his mouth, and his tongue darted out to catch a missed drop of it trailing down his chin. More unnerving than the craving that had yet to be satiated was the eyes locked so fiercely to his own. What was he thinking? Trunks searched him for answers, the pain managing to fade into the background. The hand covering his mouth slipped away as quickly as it had landed there. He’d expected him to look rabid, or something, but he looked all-too-calm. No, what he saw was…

_Fondness._

“...daddy?” he whispered. If Vegeta remembered that tomorrow, he’d probably deliver a scathing comment or two for such a childish display. And Trunks would be grateful for it, because that meant he was back to normal. Something soft brushed against his ankle, and he almost jumped out of his skin before he realized it was his father’s tail. It curled possessively around his calf, gripping tighter than Trunks realized it could. “I… I want you to let me go.”

“No. You will stay here.” Vegeta showed him a bit of mercy by letting his hands go, but Trunks couldn’t seem to find the willpower to move them whether they were free or not. His father ducked back down to his neck and, already expecting the worst, he found himself crying again. He was babbling, incoherent in his pleas of ‘not again, please don’t, I’m scared, don’t hurt me’ that spilled over the edge like water in an overflowing glass. Vegeta pressed open-mouthed kisses to his throat, seeming to relish in the frantic vibrations that passed through it. At any second, he could choose to crush the cartilage between his teeth, and Trunks knew it. He quivered while his father licked the salt of sweat and tears from his skin, fingers coming to comb through his lavender hair affectionately. His heartbeat was audible between them, frantic and stuttering. If he made a sound, would Vegeta hear it over the thudding behind his ribcage? An involuntary squeak of horror when his mouth crept too close to that still-bleeding wound seemed to get his attention. 

“Be a good boy,” he murmured, kissing his cheek and smearing his own fresh blood on his skin. Trunks shook his head, trying in vain to move away from him. When his cheeks were caught between his father’s finger and thumb, his blue eyes were wide with panic. An apology threatened to follow: _I’m sorry. I’ll be good_. Vegeta’s gaze flicked from his eyes to his parted lips, the invitation much too enticing to refuse. He tilted his head and slotted their mouths together. His tongue tasted of mint and copper, and Trunks hated himself for not _despising_ it. His hummingbird heart couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe what was happening to him and who was doing it, but he was scared. He had been scared plenty of times, though he wouldn’t say so. Even Vegeta had scared him before— he’d always been imposing and powerful enough to do it. But this was different than being yelled at or scolded, and he let his father kiss him because if he didn’t, he might remember how badly he wanted to eat him.

Trunks was pliant beneath him, just as his unspoken apology had promised. His eyes were closed tight, so tight that he could almost forget who had their tongue chasing his own. Too young to have any prior experience and curious in the sickest way, he responded in turn. Lips slick with shared salvia moved experimentally against Vegeta’s. His father made an approving noise against him, his tail unfurling from his leg to stroke right under the hem of his shorts. It tickled, though the more insistent prodding at the meat of his thigh made his stomach feel oddly tight. 

Drool slipped from the corner of Trunks’ mouth, his unskilled methods proving messier than they needed to be. Vegeta rubbed his hand along his hip, which dragged a moan from his lips, but his morals back to the surface. What was he doing? He had to make him stop. This was his father, his own flesh and blood, and—

Flesh and blood, eaten alive. Vegeta was docile in this moment, but what if he tried to make him stop?

The beginnings of another round of panic made themselves known. New tears sprung forward, prickling sharp at his eyes. Trunks felt the rumbling growl in his father’s chest when he tried to close his legs and, with a stifled sob, spread them again. He didn’t want this, even if his body said he did— it was lying to the both of them. Not that Vegeta would have cared either way, he suspected. The tears turned the kiss salty, and his father pulled back. Trunks was panting, head spinning a little more when he saw the string of saliva connecting their mouths.

“Quit your whining, brat,” he hissed. Vegeta tugged on his shorts, but impatience took over and he decided to rip them instead. 

Trunks hated himself for being so hard. He hated Vegeta for making him that way. He hated his mother for not being strong like the rest of them, because she’d be able to help him if she weren’t so pathetic. His father licked his lips and Trunks remembered again why he complied. Fingers pressed against his hole, eliciting a startled gasp. It was then he became acutely aware of wetness accumulating there, and confusion rendered him silent.

“See?” Vegeta lifted those two fingers into his line of vision, so that Trunks could see something clear and sticky-looking clinging to them. “You’re soaking wet.” He pressed those fingers to his tongue and closed his lips around them. His eyes fluttered like he’d tasted something incredible.

“I don’t… understand…” Trunks couldn’t take his eyes off Vegeta while he sucked his fingers clean. His mother had been the one to give him ‘the talk’ a year or so ago, and he’d thought he understood everything clearly. But that was for _humans_ , wasn’t it? Had she even thought to ask her husband if saiyan biology was different? His heart leapt into his throat. “Wait, wait, wait no, I don’t want- don’t tou- don’t touch me-” 

“Complain any more, kitten, and I’ll make sure you don’t talk at all.” Vegeta’s dark eyes burned holes into his own. 

“You _can’t_ , I- I’m your _son_ , you can’t do this to me,” Trunks begged. He tried to take in deep breaths, but all that managed to do was cloud his senses even more. His hips were seized and lifted up with ease from the mattress, and he found himself limp in his father’s grasp.

“Of course I can. The bloodline will grow stronger when I do.” Vegeta rubbed himself against Trunks’ entrance, seeming as if he hesitated only to make the thrill last longer.

Even though he already knew and felt sick with it, Trunks desperately asked, “Do what?”

Not interested in giving an answer, Vegeta ignored him. “You’re such a pretty boy. Perfect. So… so _perfect._ ” With no further warning, he forced Trunks onto his cock. The push was smooth, aided by the slippery substance that had formed so thickly that it was dripping onto the sheets beneath them, but it hurt. God, it hurt.

Trunks went rigid, mouth agape in a silent scream. He couldn’t breathe or think or do anything but accept it when Vegeta pulled out halfway to force himself in harder. His fingers weakly gripped to the sheets that he could reach, the most compliance he’d gotten out of his own body in hours. _But it hasn’t been hours, has it? It’s been… minutes._

All of this had happened so quickly, and it was only getting worse.. Vegeta didn’t slam into him, didn’t even show his son enough respect for his dignity to take him properly; he just _used_ him like a toy. Trunks felt himself be moved over and over, and the only thing he could do was try to stay quiet. His pride begged him to just suffer through it with what little he had left.

“Oh, baby boy, you’re so _good_ ,” Vegeta purred. He intertwined his tail with Trunks’, as if he had any right to treat him softly after all of this.

“Daddy,” Trunks weakly moaned. He was seeing stars, his shameful body forcing him to get hard again. The stiffness in his muscles had dissipated, leaving him all the more easy to maneuver like a stupid little sex doll. 

Vegeta leaned forward, adjusting his hold so he could murmur into his ear. “Yeah? You want me to do it? Knock you up?”

“No, no!” He insisted, but a reignited struggle in his mind could do little more than make him flinch on the outside. He bit his tongue to stifle a guttural groan when Vegeta’s fingers wrapped around his cock. Trunks couldn’t breathe, his feverish skin suffocating like a layer of winter clothes in the summer. 

His protests were just as meaningless as ever. Vegeta dropped him for a moment, as if he’d changed his mind, only to flip him over so he could be shoved face-first into his bloody pillow. He entered him again with even less care than the first time. One hand wrapped itself around his cock again, while the other gripped right at the base of his tail. Trunks had already trained it past the painful response, but it didn’t hurt this time. Instead, a shock of pleasure moved from his spine all the way up to his shoulders. Too stunned to even make a noise, he just seized. Vegeta’s thumb rubbed beneath the thick fur while he held tight to his frantically flicking tail and fucked into him with a speed that warned he wouldn’t last much longer. Trunks could only gasp, arching his back into the touch with a pathetic lack of self-control.

“Fuck, I’m close, kitten,” Vegeta warned, hips stuttering.

“Wait, don’t- don’t do it, please,” Trunks’ voice pleaded one thing, while his body did another— tail wrapped around his father’s arm, holding him there like he wanted to be certain he did as he promised. “Daddy, _don’t_.”

“Shut up.” He slammed forward so hard that the bedframe threatened to dent the wall, forcing his cock deep into Trunks’ dripping hole. Vegeta squeezed his son’s tail when he came, eliciting a delicious gasp that turned into a needy moan. He grit his teeth, trying to hold back something more like a roar than a moan while he spilled himself inside his boy. _His_ boy, who had just cum all over his hand and collapsed the second that tension snapped inside him. 

_His_ boy, who took in one more shaky inhale before the dam broke and gripped his pillow to his chest to bury his crying face in it. 

_His_ boy, who trusted him even when he treated him terribly because he thought he could. 

“I- I _hate_ you,” Trunks shouted into the fabric he’d pressed to his face, voice breaking.

_He was right to._

**Author's Note:**

> i don't feel like copying my typical conclusion over so here's this
> 
> "BUT HEY I MEAN. I’M GOOD TO VEGETA WHEN TORIYAMA COULDN’T BE.. I GIVE HIM EVERYTHING HE WANTS... I LET HIM MOLEST TRUNKS" - me on discord, circa 2020


End file.
